


The Reason for the Season

by Princip1914



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Child Warlock Dowling, Gardener Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), POV Outsider, The mortifying ordeal of being godparents, the devil is responsible for Mall Santas, tumblr ficlet that outgrew tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28264806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princip1914/pseuds/Princip1914
Summary: “Warlock,” the severe woman asked, straightening the child’s jacket. “What’s the reason for the season?”The little boy's eyes lit up. “Gifs” he cried, jumping up and down. “Gifs, gifs, gifs, gifs.” Somewhere at the back of the line, another child started wailing. A little girl waiting behind them, fresh from holiday pictures in a red and green tartan sweater, turned to her mother and said, “butwhycan’t I open my presentsnow. I want themnow.” The severe woman’s purple painted lips curled into a smile. Behind her sunglasses, one got the impression that her eyes were smiling too. It was not a very nice smile.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 171





	The Reason for the Season

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a convo on discord. I’ve been feeling mostly drawn towards writing sad and/or realistic fic these days, so I felt like I had to do something short and sweet and a little absurd to balance it out (of course, because I’m me, this ended up a bit sad too). Enjoy!

Santa’s elves were busy wrapping garishly colored presents in a winter wonderland which twinkled with the rather excessive shininess of fake snow. 

“That’s not what elves look li--” a rosy cheeked man in an unflattering smock-like greatcoat started to say in a stage whisper. 

“--hussssh,” hissed his companion, a tall elegant woman in smokey glasses and dark purple lipstick. She was very beautiful, but this beauty was offset by the nagging, unpleasant sensation that she knew all of your secrets and wouldn’t be afraid to use them as blackmail. The line at Santa’s grotto parted in front of her like the Red Sea (a comparison she would have found very funny indeed). 

A very average-looking toddler waddled between the severe woman and the ruddy-faced gentleman, clutching at their hands in his small blue mittens. The woman released the child’s hand and covered his ears with her own spindly fingers. “Warlock doesn’t need to know about real elves. Warlock is learning about the commodification of Christmas, isn’t he, the little widdermuffins, yes he is, yes he is--” this last was spoken directly to the sticky child. The ruddy faced man tutted, but in an affectionate sort of way. 

“Warlock,” the severe woman asked, straightening the child’s jacket. “What’s the reason for the season?” 

The little boy's eyes lit up. “Gifs” he cried, jumping up and down. “Gifs, gifs, gifs, gifs.” Somewhere at the back of the line, another child started wailing. A little girl waiting behind them, fresh from holiday pictures in a red and green tartan sweater, turned to her mother and said, “but _why_ can’t I open my presents _now_. I want them _now_.” The severe woman’s purple painted lips curled into a smile. Behind her sunglasses, one got the impression that her eyes were smiling too. It was not a very nice smile. 

“See, he’s already causing chaos.” 

The ruddy faced man looked around, unimpressed. “Forgive me for saying so my dear, but it doesn’t seem that hard to cause chaos here.” 

“Well,” the purple smile faltered. “Baby steps. Now Warlock--” she knelt down so that they were face to face. “What are you going to ask Santa to get you for Christmas?” 

“Monster tank,” Warlock said proudly. 

“And why do you want a monster tank?” 

“To crush the skulls of my enn-mies, Nanny.”

“Good boy,” Nanny ruffled Warlock’s hair affectionately. “Go on now, run to Santa.” 

The odd pair watched as Warlock tottered off in the direction of Santa’s Lap, helped along by a very harried looking elf. 

“Do you know, that elf has been cheating on her husband with Mrs. Claus for the better part of a decade?” Nanny asked conversationally. 

“The allure of the forbidden?” The ruddy-faced man asked lightly. 

“Nah,” Nanny made a face. “True love I’m afraid.” 

They were silent for a while, watching as Warlock squirmed his way up onto red velveteen clad thighs. A flake of artificial snow drifted from the ceiling and hung just above the ruddy-faced man’s head as though caught on an unseen object. It glittered. 

“You’ve got...on your halo--” Nanny said, and leaned towards the gentleman with something that even a casual passerby could have identified as yearning. 

“Oh, thank you,” he murmured as her fingers brushed the air over his head, knocking the snowflake to the ground. Everyone within a ten foot radius was seized with a sudden, crushing wave of adoration. Children hugged their mothers. Couples kissed. The pair of taxidermied mourning doves that adorned the top of the mall Christmas tree were surprised to find themselves alive and well despite a total lack of internal organs and cooed softly in confused bliss. 

Nanny and her gentleman companion turned to look back at the garish Christmas scene in front of them, only now, due to a small and inexplicable rift in the time and space continuum, they were standing so close together that the rough sleeve of the man’s coat brushed up against Nanny’s silk clad shoulder. Warlock was currently posing for pictures on Santa’s lap with an overwrought sort of smile that suggested he was seconds from a total meltdown. 

“Are we doing a good job?” the ruddy-faced man asked, quiet and a bit sad. 

Nanny gasped in outrage. “What kind of a question is that? Good job! We’re not _trying_ to do a good job, we’re doing a middling job remember. Not good, not bad. The fate of the world depends on it, angel.” 

“Ah, no, I don’t mean--” the man Nanny had called angel sighed. “I mean are we doing a good job in a human sort of way? Are we...are we good godparents do you think?” 

Nanny’s long fingers, perhaps best suited for breaking the bones of small mammals, had somehow found their way into the angel’s leather clad palm. It was a space for which her hand had certainly not been designed, and yet it fit there perfectly. 

“I reckon we are,” Nanny said after a long pause. “We’re trying anyway, and that’s the best any of them--” she gestured to the packed Santa’s Grotto with her other hand. “--can do. Any of us can do, really.” 

The angel said nothing, but his fingers, encased in a warm leather driving glove (a thank you gift following the exchange of a thermos of some theological and interpersonal significance), squeezed Nanny’s gently. 

In front of them, Warlock began to sob loudly, and turned to grab two handfuls of Santa’s very long and, unfortunately, very artificial beard. 

“Ah, that’s my cue,” Nanny said, and bustled off to collect The Spawn of Satan from the Lap of Santa, but not before gently and bit bashfully bussing her lips against the angel’s ruddy cheek. She was too busy wrangling The Antichrist, Destroyer of Worlds to notice the angel raise his gloved hand to his cheek and hold it there, pressing in, as though he could preserve the kiss forever, preserve it beyond, even, the end of the world itself. 

(Perhaps, in fact, he could).

**Author's Note:**

> [Come stop by on tumblr](https://princip1914.tumblr.com) for more cursed (™) content.


End file.
